Herbalists' Cache oh, devastate me, let me be broken with you

@Awol, @Pygmalion :3 (other members of UG are welcome as well!)

 

The stone was nothing exceptional. 

At first glance, one would think it to be like any other chunk of rock lying aside the stream, which filled the air with the twinkling music of burbling water - cold and tinny with the northern wind brushing her face playfully, as if enticing her to dance to the music of her simple albeit fantastical world. 

The Ovate could not have said what prompted her to reach forward, a ghastly paw of moonlit snow extending as if by its own design to overturn the rock as gently as she might have rolled over a bairn. If prompted, she'd have ventured a guess that it was the spirits of the forest. 

All concern for the unseen force motivating her fled upon seeing the stone's true nature, however; an almost inaudible gasp bursting from her lips. 

The stone was anything but ordinary. 

On one side, nothing more than creekbed gravel and on the other, smooth glass streaked by fiery reds and icy blues - not unlike the swirling hues of her own warring gaze. 

Dwyn allowed her paw to rest over it, covering it as her abstract gaze wandered sightlessly, recalling her mother's teachings of the spirits and their offerings. 

Is it a sign? Am I meant to stay here, make this place my home? 

Despite Emira's pleas, the wolfdog could not find it within her to seek her own kind actively. For starters, she knew very little of the land and its inhabitants - she had not even the slightest clue where to begin. And suppose the Clans of these lands were at all similar to the Vaskra? 

A shudder rippled over her flesh spasmodically as the cur swallowed thickly, whetting her lips anxiously as the slashed skin of her throat tugged in protest. 

Never again.

She could not take the risk; the Dragon would slit open her own skin before she let another hold her in such a manner. 

It would be best if she were to find a corner of this vast wilderness to make her own, take up an existence as cutwife for its people - as Emira had. Perhaps that was truly the only existence a creature like she could find peace within, a hermit's life on the very edges of civilized society. 

It would not be so bad, truly. She cast her gaze about the small forest, imaging it would be well provisioned in the warmer months. The scents here were strong, a confusing myriad of fresh and stale, old and young, male and female. Yet, they tended towards stale - this glen was less frequented in the dark half of the year. It would be a suitable place to winter, something she would need soon as the season progressed. 

Emira, I know you wanted me to find my people, my tribe, but winter is coming to this land. I know not how long I may have yet to seek before I must postpone my journey until spring.

The Emberwood was a fine place indeed, but the aromatic forest nestled directly adjacent wasn't so bad, either. Even as the plants died, there still were some herbal hold-outs, clinging to the last vestiges of life before winter came for real. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the myriad scents, a placid, half-dopey smile coming over his maw.

The expression remained as he caught sight of the pale girl, standing nearby.

At first, he thought it was the woman from the other day—but this one had stranger features, characteristics he'd not seen before. She looked like him, but altogether different, too. He was drawn to her. . .not in the way he was drawn to Bhediya, but drawn nonetheless.

He padded closer, giving a chuff in greeting, his breath clouding on the cool air. You look lost, Pygmalion teased, eyes creasing at the corners in friendly manner.

He was northron.

That much was clear upon first glance - what else could he have been, nanuk that he was? He towered well over the halfbreed, as the majority of his kind did, and had the bulk to match. His coat was pure, blanched even paler than her own leucistic color, and his eyes dark - a true northerner, not like the Yukon wolves of Vaskra with their bastard tongue and diluted blood.

Panic flared in her chest, a white flash that shot through her lungs and quavered her breaths as they escaped. Her eyes found the blanketed floor of pine needles and snow, a quilt of brown and white that her watery eyes locked upon desperately. 

The Druid, too shocked by his sudden approach to flee or fight, remained locked in place, trembling as he drew near - for what reason could a wolf, a male wolf, want her company? 

At his voice, she flinched back slightly - auds tucking neatly against her stardust crown as her eyes squeezed shut momentarily, as if expecting a blow. 

They reopened again, blinking wide in shock when his words registered. Openly, Dwyn gaped at him - staring without reservation as she took in his pleasant expression for the first time. 

Could it be a trick?

With that thought, her eyes clouded guardedly - unable to believe in his kindness, an unearned chivalry to boot. Remembering her manners, the Dragonborn ducked her head, whispering an apology.

"Is good word," she wisped a moment later with a half-smile, in broken Common, "for Dwyn." 

She'd always been lost in this world. It was a place she couldn't seem to quite grasp - its cruelty, its coldness, its hatred. Always, Drysvys felt a step behind, lacking some piece of the puzzle that would enable her to understand the ways of lupines. 

"You?" She asked with an endearing cock of her head, much like a curious canine.

His brows knitted in concern as she withdrew, looking timid, beaten. . . And then she spoke in a sort of broken manner that made him wonder where exactly she came from. Why did she seem so afraid? He didn't think he was all that scary, really.

Dwyn, he responded, taking that to be her name. A good word, a good name, Pyg added, gently blinking at her, his smile softening.

At her query, he shook his head. No. My home is nearby, he explained, canting his head in that direction. His gaze fixed onto hers. . .so different, compared to his dark, almost drab eyes. So not of this world. Not that Pygmalion believed in aliens or anything like that.

And yet—

I'm assuming yer home is not nearby? he added cheekily.